


Goodnight, Goodbye (I'm Sorry)

by StagsInSilence



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Suicide, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4696247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StagsInSilence/pseuds/StagsInSilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragon is dead but at the cost of Will's entire life. A wife that is too afraid to continue. A boss that is too distrusting to bring him back. A friend that is too much of a monster to mean anything anymore. Will wishes he could be sad, but he is only sorry for all the pain he has caused.</p><p>((Based on a modified ending towards that of the movies/books, but still set in the universe of the show))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight, Goodbye (I'm Sorry)

**Author's Note** : This was original inspired by the fact that Will Graham is not ONCE mentioned in  _The Silence of the Lambs_ and this been a floating theory in one of my social circles about why that might be. 

* * *

 

The lone white house stood in the cold field in Wolf Trap, Virginia. Only the light of the full moon illuminated the property and made the low-handing fog appear as though it was ghosting over still ocean waters rather than the rough frozen ground of the mid-west. Were the lights on, the home would have appeared like a boat drifting along in the stillness. But all was dark. The lights had not been turned on for days nor would they be turned on again for a very long time 

Closer to the tree line sat a dark wooden barn; the roof looking like it could collapse at any time and the door softly squeaking in the breeze. It appeared abandoned, more so than the little house, the lock perhaps cut by mischievous youths looking for a place to make their own, but if one knew what to look for, that was clearly not the case.

Then there was a crunch of an expensive loafer snapping a twig that echoed in the otherwise silent night air.

\---

Will Graham carefully taped the last of the boxes closed and began to move them out to the rusty pickup outside. When he turned his head back for another box, Molly was standing in the doorway. She was clad in her housecoat and gripped a steaming cup of coffee between her hands. The sight caused a flicker of relief in Will, it was something familial and famili _ar_. His face quickly returned to the resting deadpan, though, as he approached the woman.

"Morning," he muttered. "Sorry if I woke you. I, uh, wanted to get an early start."

"You don't need to rush out of here, Will. I -"

Will raised a hand to cut her off without interrupting. "All the forms are signed and on the counter. It's done, Molly. My time here is finished."

Molly frowned at the mention of the divorce papers. There was a part of her that wanted things to work out, to go back to how they were before the Red Dragon intruded into their lives. It was a wish that just couldn't come true no matter how much she had promised things wouldn't change. They had already changed. She stared at her coffee, brow furrowed.

Will walked up the steps, placing a hand on her shoulders. "I'll be out of here before Walter gets up." He wanted to kiss her cheek, or her forehead, something to display that he still cared about her, that there were no hard feelings between them... but that wasn't his place anymore. It was his fault that she was nearly killed during the case. Will took back his hand and opened the door.

"At least take the dogs."

"I couldn't do that to Walter."

\---

An hour later, Will was on the road with Winston curled up beside him on the truck bench. The rest of the pack stayed behind. Winston would only run away, trying to find Will if he was left behind - just like when Alana was left in charge of the pack. The radio crackled as some quiet song played behind the static of bad reception. He was numb as the road stretched on ahead of him, the signs directing to exits passing each other in familiar succession. He saw the one he was looking for and put a hand on Winston's head as he merged from the highway, scratching the soft fur behind the dog's ears.

Soon the two of them arrived at the old house, white walls speckled with brown in the places where the paint was peeling. Will drove around to the barn, pulling the rusty truck up behind the house and beside the tattered building. He let Winston out of the truck and walked to the barn to unlock the chained doors. When he opened them, he saw that not much has changed since he has last opened them. Jack had taken all the machinery used to "take care of" Randall Tier, but various bits and pieces of fishing gear remained along the weathered walls. The memories almost made him smile in a melancholic sort of way. It was ironic how the days he'd spent as a murderer were easier than they were now. With a sigh, he moved back out to the truck and began to move the boxes into the barn.

It didn't take long to clear out the truck bed, the last box - the one marked "clothes" - was the only one that came into the house with him along with a small bad of groceries. Opening the door, Will breathed in the stale air of the open space. His bed was still in the corner, his old dresser against the wall, his kitchen just as he'd left it several years ago. When he moved in with Molly, Will had taken only the necessities with him and left the rest behind. The thought of selling the items along with the house was too much to bear, a sick kind of nostalgia for the past twisting his insides every time he considered it, so he has just covered everything in sheets and left it at that. Bringing these things with him would have tainted the time with Molly and kept him from forming new associations. 

Will placed the box on the dresser and the groceries in the fridge as Winston booked it into the house and leapt onto the bed. He sat on the edge, smiling the way only a dog could and Will came over to join him with a small smile of his own. As he pet the dog, Will relaxed at how normal this would be if it wasn't so bittersweet. Will sighed and Winston licked his face. Of course the dog would recognize something was wrong.

"I'm fine, Winston," he muttered to the dog. "Don't worry about me."

He sat there with his friend until the sun began to set. He'd been driving all day desperate to put as much distance between Molly, Walter and himself as possible. He never said goodbye to the kid, but he knew it would be too hard for both of them. Will much preferred the idea of Walter hating him for just leaving than resenting half-hearted apologies over not being able to protect him. Family had always been an ill-fitting sweater, but not it just felt like a comfort he'd been forced to outgrow. He thought of Abigail and how things might have been different if Will was only able to save her. He wondered if she'd have gotten along with Molly. It might have been nice for her to have a mother figure again instead of only the influence of himself and Hannibal.

 _Hannibal_.

The name had been avoided for months while Will and Molly sorted through the divorce. They knew why they were really separating, they didn't need to formally address it. It was true that Will hadn't been the best husband in the world, that he had taken risks and put his priorities in the wrong order, but he truly had loved Molly for all she was. The woman dealt with his damage, his demons and his moodiness. She took in the dog pack along with his sorry ass. A real family of strays. And the Jack dragged him back into the hellfire that was Hannibal Lecter. If only he hadn't gone back for advice. If only he forced himself to go it alone, he might still have his wife and his son and... and his life.

"Damn you, you bastard," Will whispered, putting his face in his hands. "You sick, selfish bastard..."

\---

Will awoke the next morning with a killer headache and the sickness of self-loathing. He looked at his watch and groaned. 7:31am. He dragged himself out of bed, and empty mickey of liquor falling from the sheets and frightening Winston awake over on the couch. He groaned again at the clatter of plastic on the hardwood and threw back some Advil from the dresser. He fed Winston, managed to get out a piece of toast, and dug into the box of clothes to get dressed.

"Ready to go, buddy?" Winston sat obediently at Will's feet, tongue hanging out happily. "Alright, let's get in the truck."

Outside, Winston ran ahead of Will towards the truck. The morning air was biting, but Will didn't mind as it was helping further his hangover recovery. He climbed into the truck with the dog, checking the glove box as he turned on the ignition. Inside was a stack of envelopes and he sorted through them quickly, placing the one he wanted on the top of the pile before putting them back in the glove compartment. Will looked to Winston for a moment before pulling out of the driveway and onto the road.

\---

"Will, it's great to see you! Come on in!"

Will smiled awkwardly as Alana rushed him inside. The moment Winston has seen Applesauce, he'd taken off to be with the other dog, leaving Will and Alana alone in the front foyer of the large mansion on Muskrat Farm.

"How've you been?" she asked, leading the way to the sitting room.

"Um... Well, I'm back..." Will fiddled with his hands anxiously as he sat down; he didn't really want to talk about himself. Luckily Alana seemed to pick up on it.

"It's still great to see you, Will. Really. Though I need to ask, what brings you out here? I thought you'd be busy getting re-settled and all that."

"That's the thing, actually. I need somewhere to keep Winston while I get sorted. The place I've got for the time being isn't pet friendly as it turns out." He was lying through his teeth and it hurt to do so to Alana of all people. She didn't know he still had the farm, no one did, but it was for the better. "I was hoping he could stay here. I mean at least he'd have Applesauce to keep him company."

"Yeah, of course," Alana smiled softly. "What about the-"

"The other stayed back in Florida. I couldn't take them away from Walter after everything he's been through..."

Alana nodded and reached across the couch, placing a hand on his. She looked at him with compassionate concern. Will couldn't look her in the eye and just watched her through his peripherals. He gently pulled his hand away. He didn't deserve her sympathy.

"Sorry, Alana, I-"

"It's alright, Will. It'll get easier."

Will snorted sarcastically and ran his hand through his hair, "We'll see about that. As long as it's easier for them, that's what matters." There was a pause between them before he stood up. "Thanks for taking in Winston. I can tell he missed Applesauce. I should get going."

He could tell Alana wanted to ask him to stay, and silently appreciated that she kept that intention to herself. "Sure. He'll be here for you when you're all settled. Let me walk you out."

Will raised a hand to stop Alana from rising with him and smiled sadly, "Yeah... I know the way out, don't worry about it."

She rose anyway and gave Will and gentle hug, "Come by any time. And let me know if you need anything."

Will wrapped his arms around her gently. Alana was a good woman, and one of the few who truly cared about his wellbeing. "Thanks, Alana. Give Margot my best."

"I will."

And with that, Will let go and saw himself out. Before completely leaving the mansion, he looked around, making sure he wasn't being watched as he stood in the foyer. Out of his jacket, he pulled one of the off-white envelopes addressed to Alana and left it tucked under the little basket on the table by the door - visible enough to be found, but hidden enough that it wouldn't be spotted right away. With a sigh, he left the mansion and got into his truck alone, driving from the property.

\---

The next stop was Quantico.

Will didn't expect to find Jack in his office, so when he did, it threw him. "Um, hey Jack..."

"Will?" Jack seemed equally surprised to see him and stood up from his desk to greet his friend properly. "What in God's name are you doing back here?"

Will fiddled with the visitor's badge. Alana was hard enough to talk to, but the guilt in Jack's voice as he looked Will over was unbearable to deal with. "Just thought I'd say hi as I was driving past."

"You're looking better than the last time I saw you, Will."

"Yeah, well, having the stitches taken out certainly does wonders to one's appearance."

Jack forced something that could be considered a smile onto his face, "Let me get you a coffee."

Will didn't want a coffee. He didn't really want to talk to Jack, either. But he knew he needed to and stepped aside, "Sure, why not."

Jack walked around his desk and of the office ahead of Will, who pulled another envelope from inside his jacket and tucked it between the cushions on the chair closest to him. He then promptly turned and followed Jack down the hallway to the cafeteria.

The coffee was shit, just like Will remembered, and the small talk stiff, also like Will remembered. Neither of them had been particularly fond of small talk, so when forced into it, everything seemed even worse than usual.

"Why are you really here, Will? I'd have figured you would have been long gone."

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Will admitted. It was easier to just discuss the elephant in the room rather than continue to force chatter about the weather. "I really was just stopping by, Jack. I wanted to get another look at this place and figure out what I'm really doing."

"Have you figured it out yet?"

Will gave a small smile, looking at his coffee, "I think so. But I've got another stop on my drive-around to really set it in stone."

"Will, is that really -"

"Yes, Jack. It is necessary."

Jack sighed, "Just be careful, Will. Are you going to tell me what it is that you're deciding on?"

"Not yet."

"But you will?"

"Of course."

"I should get back to work."

"Bye, Jack."

"Watch out for yourself, Will."

\---

Will pulled up in front of the unfortunately familiar, white stone building. He heart was fluttering quite rapidly in his chest and his throat felt tight and dry. He climbed from the car and tucked yet another envelope into his jacket as he did so. There were two left in the glove compartment, but those wouldn't be relevant for a few days at the very least and remained where they were. He walked up the short flight of front steps and into the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The last in-person stop he needed to make.

The staff knew of him well, so there were little precautions needed to be taken as Will Graham walked down the familiar hallway, through the doors, and into the lavish glass cage that housed the man who had destroyed anything and everything of value in Will's pathetic little life.

"How many time must you come here wearing that atrocious aftershave before you take the needed measures to replace it?"

The deep, musical voice made Will wince as he closed the door behind him. It had been a long time since he'd heard it, and it was more painful than any blade to his face. "Consider it a spiteful present."

"Or an unfortunate force of habit."

Will approached the glass, looking at his feet but able to clearly see the caged man through his peripherals. He didn’t speak. Primarily because he was still thinking of the words, but partly because he wanted to see how much the other man could discover for himself.

“There is something troubling you. How’s the wife?”

“Ex-wife. No thanks to you, Doctor.”

“Shame. But I did tell you as much when you came previously. She would have left eventually.”

Will laughed coldly, “Is that _jealously_ I’m detecting?”

“Far from,” was the even colder reply.

Will rubbed his face with his hands, letting go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, at looked up with cold eyes. “Hello, Hannibal,” he said, his voice sounding entirely different than before, void of all emotion. It was the only way to do this.

“Hello, Will.”

There was static in the air from the gaze that had both of them trapped. A staring contest where the loser would die. Just like any other game the two of them had played. A smile danced across Hannibal’s lips and it infuriated Will despite his refusal to let it show. Will shifted his weight slightly before moving to the slot in the glass where things could be passed back and fourth.

“You’ve brought me something.”

“Yes,” Will said and brought the envelop out of his jacket and held it up for Hannibal to see. “A thank you note for all you’ve done for me.”

“How sweet. Did you plan on reading it aloud for me to hear or am I allowed to cherish it physically?”

Will smirked, “The last time I read something aloud to you it was your psychiatric evaluations of me. I don’t plan on repeating anything similar.” He slipped the envelope into the slot and took a step back.

“May I read it now?” Hannibal asked. Any other situation would have had Will questioning the courtesy Hannibal was currently exhibiting, but Alana had at last returned the toilet in the corner and Will doubted that Hannibal was willing to risk losing his dignity again.

“No.”

“When?”

“You know,” Will said, turning to walk back across the glass, “there was this song that Molly used to like. I don’t remember what it was called but I hated when she’d hum it.”

Hannibal pursed his lips and straightened his posture ever so slightly, intrigued with where the conversation was going.

“It reminded me of you even though a deeper insight into it would make it a more appropriate song to forget about you.”

“Hard to play house when you are thinking of a life before. Did you miss me, Will?”

A small growl came from Will’s throat at the quip but he continued as if nothing had happened, “ _I’m done trying to have it all. And ending up with not much at all_. That’s how the song went.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

Will remained silent, pacing as he avoided looking back at the man on the other side of the glass.

Hannibal smirked. “It has been a long time since you came to me like this, Will. Might I ask what the occasion is?”

Will stopped pacing and looked up at Hannibal, took in the light of his eyes, the shine of his greying hair, the lines of his face. He committed this look to memory. A look he already knew so well from the time they had spent together in the doctor’s office. He felt his own face soften as the moment passed slowly. Hannibal waited patiently. “Goodbye, Hannibal.”

“Will.”

Will didn’t move.

“Do you remember those times?”

“Every moment.”

“Do you happen to have the time.”

“Somewhere to be?”

Hannibal smiled.

“One-fifty-six.”

Hannibal nodded, ever so slightly, “Goodbye, Will.”

With the turn of his heel, Will walked out of the room. Hannibal waited until the door was closed before he took the letter from the slot and looked at the chicken scratch handwriting with something that could have been considered sadness.

When the door closed, he carefully opened the letter.

_Just because the lights aren’t on doesn’t mean there isn’t somebody home._

Hannibal read over the single sentence several times before looking up and regarding the small clock on the table by the door. The time read 3:19 pm.

\---

Will drove home, stopping quickly at a mailbox to toss the other two letters addressed in sloppy scrawl to Frederick Chilton and Freddie Lounds. There was an urge to stop by the Baltimore graveyard where Abigail Hobbs laid, but Will couldn’t bare the thought of seeing her with what he was about to do. He couldn’t let down her memory.

Once back in Wolf Trap, Will waited patiently until nightfall before grabbing a fresh mickey of cheap whiskey to keep him company. At his desk he wrote out another message. His eyes burned from exhaustion and inebriation as he forced the words out. Or he would prefer to think he forced them out. The ease in which this last letter was coming together would have been disturbing had the whiskey not settled ever so nicely in the pit of his stomach. Upon completion he tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket and went out to the barn.

\---

In the BSHCI, Hannibal laid awake on his cot. He thought of his Egyptian cotton sheets and his satin duvet and a small smile crossed his face. It was nearly midnight and the night guard would be in soon. He tapped his fingers in time with an unheard melody the echoed in the caverns of his memory palace and counted down until he could move. His plan was a simple one. One used many times by patients in this very hospital. In no time midnight came and Hannibal heard the turn of the nob as the door slowly began to open.

Hannibal bit his tongue and coughed, blood spilling from his mouth as he rolled from the cot and onto the floor, gripping at his throat with one of his hands, the other reaching out towards the glass. The guard turned on the light, eager and panicked to see what was happening. The blood before Hannibal shined in the light and the guard radioed for help, running to the door of the isolated prison. He didn’t open the door – not _that_ stupid – until two orderlies rushed into the room, medkit and sedatives at the ready.

“I think he’s choking on something? I-I don’t know,” the guard bumbled and it took a more self-control than Hannibal would have initially thought to keep the smile from his blood soaked lip.

The cage door and in came the three of them. Hannibal carefully noted that the panicked guard may not have been stupid enough to enter on his own, but was still enough of a fool to leave the door open. He continued to spit up his own blood as he measured the distance and weighed his exact options. Everything lined up just right and Hannibal moved, as fast and graceful as ever; elbow to the orderly with the sedative, needle in medkit orderly, up to the table for a pencil that goes into the guard's throat before grabbing his gun and putting down the orderly whose nose had been effectively broken. Hannibal was pleased with himself as he slipped the keys from the guard's belt and sauntered out of the room, humming a melody of his own composition as he did so. 

\---

The night was frosted and silent as the moonlight shone against the dusting of snow and fog on the fields of the little Wolf Trap farm property. The distant squeak of the barn door was masked by the chirping of crickets amongst the trees until there was a sudden echo of sound at the snap of a twig beneath expensive leather loafers. Hannibal Lecter frowned, barely breathing as he waited for the sounds of the night to once again dominate the landscape before him. It had been far too long since he had set foot on the quaint property, but the silence was far too absolute for his liking. 

He approached the barn, careful of twigs or other noisy, ground-level protrusions, and carefully peered inside. 

What was presented before him was enough to make even Hannibal cringe - even if only slightly.

Will Graham dangled from the weathered rafters of the tattered roof, his body ever so still and ever so pale. There was a note at his feet and Hannibal stooped to pick it up.  _This is my design_ was written on the front in handwriting that screamed of alcohol. _  
_

 

 

 

> _Hannibal,_
> 
> _This is the end of our zero sum game. But it isn't really a zero sum anymore is it? When this all began you made sure to strip me of all that I had. You took Alana. Turned me on Jack. Murdered no one, but two of my so-called children. And it was never enough for you. You used the Dragon's wrath to erase Molly from my life and left me with nothing._
> 
> _Nothing but you._
> 
> _You pushed to a point where I couldn't live with_ or  _without you. So now it is your chance to decide where you stand now that you must live without me._
> 
> _Goodbye Hannibal_

Time would pass and Hannibal would lie through his teeth that the final note from Will Graham did not leave a bitter taste in his mouth. If he had to guess, he would have not initially thought that this is where he would find Will only hours later. He pulled back the sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.

2:09am.

With a sigh Hannibal fought with the rope and was eventually able to bring down the body of his friend. Will had told him the time was 1:56 and Hannibal had thought hard about the meaning of the number when he remembered Will's time as a police officer. 10-56 was the code for a suicide, but he had known Hannibal would not have believed that was the true time and taken away the zero in pace of the colon typically seen on digital clocks. Perhaps if he had come straight to Wolf Trap instead of taking the time to discard the prison jumpsuit, Will would still be alive. Or at least alive enough to save. Hannibal carefully laid Will on the ground, removing the noose from his neck and gently brushing dark curls from his cold forehead.

"It didn't need to end this way, Will," he said softly and stood, tucking the note into his coat and exiting the barn. 

Hannibal found the front door of the little white house open and entered cautiously. The phone sat on the counter of the kitchen's island and Hannibal dialed a number one would have thought he had long since forgotten.

The dial tone barely rang once before there was a voice on the other end.

"Will, I was just about to-"

"Will Graham is dead, Jack."

Silence.

"He told me he planned on killing himself mid-afternoon today. I had hoped to prevent it but there were certain time constraints that could not be avoided. Certainly you understand that."

Meanwhile, Jack Crawford rubbed his eyes with a free hand and sank down to the steps of the BSHCI. Will was dead? They had talked that afternoon. He had seemed no more introverted than what was usual. How could he have missed something so important?

"He presented me with a letter, Jack," Hannibal said pointedly. "Perhaps he brought one to you as well?"

Jack tried to think. He hadn't noticed anything but Will  _had_ lingered in his office a moment too long before they had gone for coffee.

"I suspect I will see you soon, Jack."

With that Hannibal hung up the phone and Jack hung his head in shame. 

\---

Hannibal was not permitted to come to the funeral, nor the press. It was a small guest list in general. Alana and her family. Jack and the lab team. Even Molly and Walter had made their brief appearance, too pained to be there for long. Freddie Lounds had snuck under the radar but understood the severity of the sadness felt by all there and held her tongue until the end. 

"Agent Crawford," she called as the FBI crew began to file out of the graveyard. "Jack, wait."

"What on earth could you have to say, Miss Lounds?" he snapped. 

"He wrote me a letter, too. All it asked was that I leave his ex-wife alone. Seems like he was planning this for a long time."

Jack glared, not trusting himself to speak. Luckily enough Alana stepped in. "Will was more traumatized by the recent events than any of us could have possibly imagined. It would be in your best interests to leave all of us alone, Freddie. Send our best to Frederick."

"What did he say to you?"

Jack and Alana both paused, looking at each other to determine whether or not to answer her. Will had left them all letters, had felt the need that all of them know  _something_ before he was gone forever. If Freddie received a letter as well

"He told me to look after Win-...his dog."

"He said to make sure Lecter didn't get another chance."

"Another chance for what?" Freddie had an idea but there was no article without an official quote.

"Another chance to manipulate someone."

"Do you think he will?"

"I certainly hope not."

With that Jack and Alana made their way out of the graveyard where the others stood waiting and Freddie stopped the recorder in her pocket. With a glance back at the headstone she hoped that this was a ruse. That the bizarre little man was hiding away somewhere secret, like when they had faked her death, but knew that this was really the end since Hannibal was back in captivity.

"Hope it was worth it, Graham," she muttered into the wind. "Crawford's not so great at keeping his promises without you around."

With that, the last person to ever be suspected of caring for Will Graham frowned and left the gravesite with fiery hair blowing in the breeze. 

**Author's Note:**

> About two years ago I wanted to kill myself and tried. It was awful and it made everything so much worse when I realized just what would have happened if I had done it. 
> 
> The part that's hardest to deal with is that the thoughts have never quite left me alone and haunted me in the back of my mind even when I was having a good time doing things I enjoyed. Then I got into the Hannibal television series. Through work I got to read the scripts and talk to the cast and the violent content of the show made the dark little voice in my head go away. 
> 
> The end of the show scares me, even though I know it will come back eventually, because of how it made me feel so much better. It’s problematic and whatever, but before I got into Hannibal I had no motivation and there is nothing more terrifying than losing interest in life to such a drastic degree as I did. Consider this a venting of sorts as I "grieve" for it. 
> 
> All that being said, please be considerate when leaving comments.
> 
> Maybe one day, when I have the proper mindset, I will re-address this fic with a more concrete version (especially since the ending feels really half-assed). But for now here is this one.
> 
> PS. – The song is "Fear & Loathing" by Marina and the Diamonds


End file.
